accidents happen
by shannello
Summary: oneshot : Sora tears up Disney ass like they just got married. It's when their boyfriends find out that Sora says, 'total accident, sorry dude, won't happen again.' Ariel/Sora, Jasmine/Sora, Belle/Sora, Alice/Sora, Meg/Sora. AU. feeeeeed back?


Accidents (fucking) Happen

by shannello

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a/n: this is really a joke. sorta. kinda. i'm not sure. haha, well you can take it either way, i guess. possible parody, possible crack, possible REAL STORY. um, not sure about that last one, though.

this story is verrrry AU, so if that frightens you, sorry. really though, it's not verry AU, it's just non-canon, out-of-order completely (meaning like, i fucked up the chronological order, sue me), and Sora's been transformed into like, this fucking machine that has a thing for princesses (or royalty). yeah, weird.

this story takes place during the first game. during Kingdom Hearts I. just so everyone knows.

( d i s c l a i m e r ) nope. i'm not currently the owner of Kingdom Hearts or Disney or anything else mentioned.

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Oh, he didn't mean any of it.

Impulse was to blame, really, yep, definitely.

He was just the little brown-haired, blue-eyed boy that invaded worlds, wars and princesses that weren't his. Emphasis on worlds and, um, wars. All of his wrong doings—no matter how right they _felt _while they were being executed, ahem—were unintentional and impromptu, totally unrehearsed spontaneous affairs.

_Ah_, Sora—young, naïve Sora with a heart too big and too open—had an unfortunate habit of robbing the sweet affections of unavailable women from potential allies and comrades (inconspicuously).

Don't think he wanted to be this person. No. Sora was especially dedicated to Kairi, obviously, but sometimes his hands would stray involuntarily to the hands, waists, thighs of other girls and Sora, being the gentleman his is, is ready and willing to give them what they want.

He wouldn't get to keep their hearts in the end, anyhow.

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Unintentionally, our story begins just below the belt. Oh, sorry, I mean, the sea.

10,000 leagues into a world Sora hadn't even begun to fathom, there was a shiny kingdom underneath the sand and sun and yeah. Everything was especial and precisely designed, from the path ways that were never walked upon to the hips of the seven mermaids of the royal family.

Sora was quite heroic in his attempts at eliminating all of the Heartless in Atlantica. Occasionally his eyes would drift to Ariel's bare midriff and he'd accidentally swing an inch short of the enemy's head but that was life, he assumed.

Ariel was the youngest princess, and the prettiest considerably, not that her sisters were any less pretty, just—well, Sora could see the delicate curve of her spine when she swam and he liked how she let her thick, red hair down. Not to mention she was royalty._ Underwater _royalty.

And she was funny, too, with these little jokes that made his mouth pull back into a smile. Sora liked to laugh.

Apparently, Ariel did, too. Between their tiffs with Heartless, Sora and Ariel would float on the currents and talk and laugh and smile and touch.

And so, after he had killed three hundred, four hundred, six thousand Heartless, Sora was allowed to kiss Ariel (given special permission from the princess herself) just outside of the castle for much longer than three seconds. Of course, if you'd asked him about it he'd tell you he slipped and their lips accidentally met, even though it's quite impossible to slip under water, Sora.

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Back on dry land, Sora went from one extreme to the next and crash landed in Agrabah, midday, temperature somewhere between 30 and 50 degrees Celsius.

Feeling uncomfortably overdressed for the occasion, Sora courageously aided the main character of _Aladdin_ in clearing the streets of Agrabah of Heartless, getting hotter and sweatier—and this was all before he laid eyes on the sultan's sultry daughter, Jasmine.

Peeling his vest off was a tad bit more difficult than eliminating Heartless, but Sora did it despite the inconvenience of undressing. The sun on his bare skin felt much better, and he inwardly wanted to borrow Genie and wish up some sunscreen, but that was so selfish and just plain immature. Sweat trickled down the side of Sora's face and his thoughts returned to that polished lamp.

"I was watching you fight," came a silky voice.

And as if by magic a young woman walked uneasily out from inside an abandoned bazaar, all legs and curves and hair.

Sora immediately felt his shorts tighten, but it was to be expected. Jasmine's attractive, half-lidded eyes lined in black, and her tiny waist displayed appetizingly contributed to the sweat drops appearing on Sora's temple. Sora took an apprehensive step back, out of surprise, if anything.

"You're interesting," said the girl slowly, walking to him. "What's your name?"

"I'm Sora," he heard himself say, awkwardly. "Oh, and thanks, thank you."

"Are you usually this well-mannered?" said the girl, and as an addendum, "I am Jasmine, daughter of the sultan," and as if by magic, Sora was automatically hooked. Maybe it was the princess thing.

He saved her from becoming cut in half by a bandit Heartless, resulting in more raining affection, and eventually her teeny top was sliced off, by chance, obviously, and Sora secretly thanked whoever was up there watching over him.

It wouldn't be until much later, after a longer journey involving a demented advisor, an annoying parrot, and several sickening carpet rides that Sora would get to explore Jasmine's cave of Wonders, if you catch my drift.

Now, when Aladdin caught wind of this, Sora was all _accidents_, and _I didn't mean its _and _I gotta go, big emergency, um, elsewhere._

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One pill will make you larger, one pill will make you small.

Sora's hand hovered over both bottles, going back and forth between them, gnawing on his bottom lip.

"Sora, dear, it's actually quite a simple decision," said Alice, very blue and blonde today, bluer and blonder than usual. Possibly it was because Sora was figuring out this pattern, a princess pattern which he found incredibly tempting.

"Shh," groaned Sora, thinking deeply. "I don't want to make a mistake and pick the wrong bottle—"

"If anyone asks, just tell them calmly, with a straight face (to make it believable), that it was an accident." Alice wasn't really fascinated with his dilemma, or if she was she wasn't letting on about it, because her head was somewhere above the tipsy tall trees outside the lopsided house and it's wacky-sized décor. Languidly, her pretty blue eyes examined him, and she said, "That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? The petty, little things people assume?"

His blue eyes flickered from the bottles over to her stocking-clad calves and her black-shoed feet for a nanosecond before he picked up a bottle. "Are you _sure _you're really a princess? Like, are you official?"

"Quite," said Alice, eying him suspiciously.

What occurred next, against a very uncomfortable rock out in those weird, but wonderful, woods is considered an accident by Sora and bad etiquette by Alice.

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"This is bad," said Belle, her pretty head poking out from beneath the blanket.

Beside her, Sora yawned. "What? I thought it was really good."

Belle gave him a scholarly glare, "Oh, not that. That was good. _This_, this is terrible."

The castle was large enough for them to, erm, converse in private without being detected or uncovered. Sora had nightmares about Beast's nose, sniffing after him and then the red in Beast's eyes, and then finally, the yellow in Beast's fangs. Fortunately, their little excursions—in the bedrooms, in the gardens, in the kitchen—had gone undiscovered to the staff and to the main man (animal?) himself.

It had started only a short week ago, after Sora realized that inside Beast was actually a prince. And by god, if Sora knew anything at all about anything it was the dynamics of prince/princess relationships: Marry a prince, you become a princess.

It was all up to Belle, bless her soul, to lift the curse and transform the Beast into a Prince, but that would all come eventually, later, after the boy with the brown-hair was out of her bed/gardens/kitchen.

"This is enormously bad, Sora," said the princess-to-be, massaging her temples. She looked incredibly delectable when she did that, when little wrinkles appeared out of nowhere on her forehead and her nose scrunched up. She looked positively human.

In his happy, nonchalant tone, Sora chided her. "Belle, I know what I'm doing and no one ever, um, catches me. At least not in the actual act." He stretched, his left arm curling behind her head affectionately.

Belle didn't respond to that. Then, suddenly, "What? You have experience in this type of relationship? Sora, how old are you, really?"

Belle sat up, and Sora leaned over to nuzzle her face adorably. "Mmm, fourteen, I told you already…"

"You've slept with other women besides myself, most of whom have ferocious, terrifying beasts guarding them?" Her voice was flat.

Kissing her neck, Sora mumbled into her skin. "Pretty much."

"I have this sharp feeling in my gut, Sora, that this whole—mmm, oh—thing was a—a mistake."

One gloved hand moved down her body, and Sora leaned into her and whispered, "Well, if anyone asks, we'll just tell them it was an accident."

Belle laughed, "Who's going to find out? No one is knowing about this, Sora."

A few weeks later, after a boss battle, a resurrected-boss battle, and slight misgivings, Sora kissed Belle good-bye and moved on to the next princess, erm, world in distress. Unfortunately, a smallish teacup had overheard one of the pair's, um, conversations and felt the righteous need to reveal all—to which he was accidentally stepped on, oh, I'm so very sorry, Mrs. Teapot.

He _will _be missed.

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Sora had been to Hell and back. _Literally_.

The Underworld wasn't a very pleasant place, nor did it smell very pleasant—actually it smelled a lot like sulfur and something along the lines of pleather. The dim lighting made it very difficult to get a good hit in. The water was colder than death.

But there was one good, sharp-witted, pouty-lipped thing that came out of Hell—no, really, she walked right through Hell's doors.

Meg, was what her friends called her, if she had any.

"So, you're like a goddess," was one of the very first things he said to her.

Meg scoffed. "I'm more along the lines of a living corpse, kid."

Sora didn't buy it. "But, your skin is glowing, look."

Rolling her eyes, Meg extended an arm. It looked miserably human to her.

Sora took her hand in his and grinned.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," said Sora.

She didn't break their connected hands, even though Hercules was fighting heroically somewhere beneath them in, well, Hell. She gave him a well-deserved once-over and repeated, "_What_?"

Sora's smile did not falter. If anything, it brightened. "Um, nothing."

Meg sighed dramatically, "I don't have all day to play games, kid. I've got a lot of important things to, um, take care of—or at least I would, if I had important—"

"You have to be the prettiest goddess I've ever met," said Sora excitedly, and Meg's teeny heart pulsed, once.

Then, returning to Earth, "How many goddesses have you met?"

Sora shrugged, "Um, one."

Realizing she herself was the goddess, Meg bowed her head, also realizing that she wasn't going to be able to get rid of this kid, boy, teenager (?) easily. Also, she would not be able to change his mind about her goddess-ness, which was totally false, since it's only by association, by the way.

"So, I'm the only goddess you've ever met," she only slightly barked. "You don't get out much, do you?"

"Hmm, well, I wouldn't say that," said Sora, thoughtfully, thinking back.

Not interested, Meg glanced at their hands. She tugged lightly and Sora squeezed.

Fully interested, Sora's grin started all over again.

It wouldn't be long before Sora's smooth talking and boyish ways—not to mention many cups of wine that had runneth'd over—and he was in a goddess's sleeping quarters and it was somewhat cooler than sleeping with a prince-turned-monster's bride, an Agrabian princess (who owns a _tiger_), and making-out with a half-girl half-fish.

Of course, getting kicked out of her house the next morning while said goddess was a host to a lethal virus which was her hangover wasn't nearly as cool as anything listed above.

Sora figured she wrote their passionate affair off as an accident, one that would never ever repeat, in this century or the next—but the next time they ran into each other, Meg couldn't keep her hands off of him.

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When princesses start interacting with Prince Charmings, well, that's where Sora draws the line. Prim, proper, devilishly handsome, it's princes like them that put boys like Sora outta business.

Snow White, Cinderella, Aurora—each so beautiful, yet so unattainable. How Sora wished to be a glove, so that he may touch that cheek…

But, no. Princesses with Prince Charmings were strictly prohibited, banned, barred, forbidden, so sorry, Sora, my boy.

Also, princesses that aren't even princesses, like Wendy—where do girls get off by lying about their princess-hood? Incredible.

After half a month of pouting about Prince Charmings, Sora realized he had come to the end of the game. And, oh, look at this! His princesses, sleeping soundly.

It was quite the sight to see them all lined up like that, but he had a job to do, and for once, the only thing on his mind was finding Riku and Kairi.

The next part goes by a little fast, try to keep up, okay?

Kairi, dead, Riku, key blade, Ansem, oh lord, Sora, put that down —

Hearts had exploded out of Sora's body. It was almost poetic.

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At the end of his story, at least the princesses got their hearts back.


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